Skyrie played by Stephen Deas.
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Last Day of the four hundred and seventeenth cycle. I wake up and my bones feel hollow. Twelve years and some since the four moons last came together. Twelve years and some since I burned my home to the ground and set on this path. And for what? I am twenty-seven years old, and I have done all there is to be done. Is this the future fore me now? To languish while everything around me prospers? I, who set out to achieve nothing more than my own destiny, power wealth and fuck the rest; I have come to this. The irony is more than compelling. I have never turned from repression where I thought it necessary. I have never inflicted it for no reason. Perhaps I should. Always they have revered the moons and the turning of the cycles. I have a whim to wash away their love for me in their own blood. I have not the heart to smash my creation. First Day of the four hundredth and eighteenth cycle. I was wrong. It is reason I lack, not heart. Lethargy is no excuse for wantonness. Vast tracts of the Fourteen Empires remain unexplored. I still have so much to learn. My mastery of warfare and of sorcery seems almost complete, but of this Trump, I think there is more to learn. And the universe holds other secrets. I shall turn my attention to my work. The armour of the Crimson Inquisitor is a masterpiece. I have a mind to enhance my old friend, Terminus Est. And what of this mysterious Pattern - is this the power that lies behind the Trump? Surely there must be something greater. It's powers seem limited to simple tricks of sorcery, yet it cuts through the strongest of wardings like a sword through so much paper. Reports have come to me of a warlock, flying towards Mamaxia on a winged horse. Without permission. I found myself scrying for them. Me. Am I at such a loose end? Is my time of so little value? This sorceress has the audacity to scry me by return. I should be offended. I should have her taken to trial. She violates the laws which constrain, MUST constrain my warlocks. Does she not know who I am? And yet, I feel an excitement. She shows me honour and respect, and yet no fear. Yes. I could admire this. I will have her in my service, if her heart is as pure as she seems. We shall see. Where is this Amber? She shows me pictures. Her 'cousins?'. She wishes an audience. Trump. They have the power of Trump? Who are these people? I feel a twinge of something I've not felt for years - since we fought Cortis and his army of dogmen. Anticipation? Certainly? Anxiety? Fear? I forget how these feel. Excitement. The turning of the cycle. They shall have their audience. Where is this Amber? They come. Second Day of the four hundredth and eighteenth cycle. I can't believe I only kept them waiting for so short a time. I fear I am softening. Or rather, I fear my sorcerers and armsmasters will see it so. A MILLION WORLDS? I'm glad this throne was made for comfort. I think they have no idea who I am. That or they know better than I do. The madness of the four moons must have taken hold of me, that I take them, alone, into my sanctuary. That I allow them to remain armed. Though they can pose little threat to me, even three of them (I know you are hiding there, behind your cousin, you of the pointy teeth and the disdain and the hollow heart). I do not believe they are assassins, but if they were, I have given them a greater opportunity than ever I should, and they have the Trump. I must remember that always. Why do I follow them? Utter madness. And yet I see no evil in this Etienne. Not a trace of it. A quality I have rarely seen. Corvirdin had it. I remember his purity, his solemn, calm belief in his god, and in the power of good, its triumph over evil. And did I hesitate? Did I even blink before I killed him. I did not. I have no place for gods in the hearts of my people. I will not tell Etienne of this, though. She has her god, that much is clear, and her belief. There is only one belief, and that is in victory, in one's Self. Her purity will undo her, and yet her purity is a lantern to me. I envy her and pity her both together. I hope, when I know her better, she will not be so pure after all. For both of us. When? They speak of the pattern and of places beyond, of a million worlds and more, of an Empire beyond imagination, of royal blood. At any other time, the ravings of the mad, the lure of murderous disaffection. But the cycle has turned. A new destiny awaits. They have not sought me out - I have sought them. Even as I follow, I lead the way. I have no fear. I feel the grasp of fire once more. |